Prim's Game
by SouffleGirlAfterAll
Summary: "When all the odds were against it, that one little slip of paper in her hand is mine." - The 74th Annual Hunger Games. Against all odds, little Primrose Everdeen is in the Arena, fighting for survival. Will she make it out alive?
1. The Reaping

**Prim's Game**

* * *

1. The Reaping

Quiet. That's the first thing I notice when I open my eyes. There's none of the usual hustle and bustle of the District Twelve black market, the Hob. No children running outside, no dogs barking. Today is the reaping. Today, as has happened for the last seventy four years, the lives of twenty four teenagers will change forever.

I glance over at my mother, sleeping soundly beside me. I climbed in with her in the night, seeking her warmth and reassurance that would always send be back to sleep whenever I was plagued by the nightmares that had been frequenting my dreams the past few weeks. The nightmare that is today. The devastating outcome that could tear our family apart. We don't dare speak of it, but I know we are all thinking about it. Mother cries a lot, and seems even more depressed than usual. Katniss just shuts herself off from Mother and I think that her way of not thinking about it is just immersing herself in hunting for food and busying herself with jobs to take her mind off things.

I am disturbed from my distant daydreaming by Buttercup brushing his tickly whiskers across my toes. I smile weakly and pull him close, burying my face in his scruffy yellow fur. Somehow, he always seems to be able to make me smile, forget about worries for a moment, and he doesn't even know he does it. Katniss can't stand him, and the day I found him starving on the street and brought him home she nearly drowned him in a bucket. I begged her to let us keep him, because he could catch his own food and I would be responsible for him. I think Buttercup remembers the whole nearly being drowned thing, because he always hisses and flattens his ears back when Katniss comes anywhere near him.

I know it's silly to be scared. Katniss tells me this over and over. This is my first reaping; my name has only been entered into the draw once. I won't be chosen. I can't. The odds are hundreds to one, and I have to keep telling myself this. I wanted to take out tesserae, but Katniss wouldn't hear of it. Children from poor families often take out tesserae in desperation, which is almost every family in the Seam, our part of District Twelve. Tesserae means signing up to have your child's name entered more times into the reaping in exchange for a year's supply of necessities like oil and grain for one person. But there's a catch. The entries are cumulative, so you have to put your name in the same amount of times as last year, plus this year's tessera. This year, Katniss' name is going in twenty times.

I notice that like every morning, the bed I usually share with Katniss is empty, hunting boots gone from under the bed. I also see that Katniss has taken the little goats cheese I left under a bowl on the table for her to take. I made it myself, with the milk from my goat Lady that Katniss bought for my birthday. She got a good deal for her too; the owner was about to give up on the badly injured, dying nanny goat. So Katniss traded some game for her and tied a ribbon round her neck. I was absolutely thrilled; I love animals, and someday I want to be a healer like my Mother, and maybe I could heal animals too! My Mother fixed her up, and I named her Lady. She was definitely worth the trouble, we get milk and cheese to eat, and for Katniss to sell at the Hob too. I made the cheese yesterday while Katniss was hunting, as a little Reaping Day present for her to share with Gale when they go hunting. Gale is my friend Rory's older Brother, and he, like Katniss has to support his family almost single handedly.

I slip out of bed and pace the room while Buttercup, disgruntled at being dislodged from the bed, stalks off into the corner to sulk. I cut myself a slice of bread and spread some leftover goat's cheese on top. I make some for my Mother and leave it by the bed. I stare at my breakfast, and the usually delicious smell just sickens me. I force it down anyway, telling myself that it will make me feel better. Suddenly, there's a knock at the door, making me jump and slop milk down my front. Shaking, I open the door just a fraction, and peer outside. I'm relieved to find it's only Rory, so I dash back inside and pull on my plain, everyday dress and return to the door to let him in.

"Sorry if I gave you a fright, Prim!" he apologizes, lowering his voice as he notices my sleeping Mother. "I just wanted to see you, before the - you know." Rory's wearing his best clothes already, and they're obviously old ones of Gale's because he keeps tripping over the hem of the trousers. "Just remember, there's only one slip of paper with your name on it. All the odds are in your favour." He chuckles to himself in spite of everything. The woman who does the Reaping for us, Effie Trinket, Capitol Worker, Life Destroyer, call her what you will, has this little catchphrase that she will call out every year before she carries out the District 12 reaping.

"And may the odds, be ever in your favour!" I murmur.

Rory nods in agreement. He's a year older than me, so this is his second time. Children qualify to take part in the Reaping from the ages of 12 to 18. Not that you have any choice. Last year, watching Katniss and my friends being shepherded into the Town Square, my hand gripped tightly in my Mother's was unbearable. As was the year before, and the year before that. For as long as I can remember, this day has hung over Panem like a dark, murky storm cloud, waiting to erupt upon those twenty four children, twenty three of which will never see their family again. Knowing that this could be your fortune, your child's, your best friend's, rips you apart from the inside. Watching Katniss, her eyes glued to the enormous glass ball containing those fluttering slips of paper, as if searching for her own within its depths. Seeing Rory there for the first time last year, my tower of strength reduced to smoldering rubble before me. No-one escapes the Reaping, and even if you don't want to admit it, it frightens you to the very core. Katniss says that she never wants children. She says that she could never bear to see her own child, screaming, dragged away by the Peace Keepers, with only a one in twenty four chance of ever seeing her Mother again.

I don't blame her. I wouldn't want that kind of life for any child, yet somehow I don't think I could bear a lonely, childless existence. Sometimes I think that it's only Katniss and I that actually gives Mother the strength to see each day through. Suddenly, I feel the need to get out of the house. Get away from it all for a while.

"Do you want to go outside?" Rory has a weird knack of knowing exactly what I'm thinking. That's how close we are. It's a kind of bond I don't have with anyone else except Katniss and Mother. No-one else really gets me. I pull on a jacket and we slip outside.

The air is calm, not too warm, and not too cold. We don't dare go anywhere near the Town Square, for fear of what we might see. Instead we stick to the backstreets of The Seam, our part of district 12. We walk in silence for a while, not sure of what to say to each other.

"I wonder what it's like." Rory wonders aloud, continuing before I can ask. "In the arena, I mean. Knowing that it's kill or be killed." I'm suddenly distracted by a little squirrel, scampering up the nearest tree at the sight of us. I watch it for a moment, my eyes following it all the way up until its furry tail disappears into the leafy canopy on the other side of the electric fence that encloses District 12. I take a deep breath before answering.

"I don't know Rory." I say, a little too sharply, because his face falls. "I'm sorry, but that's the last thing I want to think about right now." It's not like me to get uptight, but this is the one thing I can't talk about. Rory seems to understand this, because he doesn't mention it again. We carry on walking a bit longer, not saying much. There's hardly anyone out, and anyone that is seems to be in an awful hurry, only acknowledging your passing with a curt nod before hurrying on.

The Seam is like a ghost town. Everyone seems to have their window shutters closed, and their doors bolted. The only sounds are that of the crunching gravel under our feet, and our ragged breathing. If only there could be kids playing out on the streets, their laughter banishing the tension and frosty silence. Maybe it would make the morning seem a little more normal, but it wouldn't change anything. The Reaping would still happen.

I glance up at the late morning sky, where two hovercrafts lurk high above us, churning the clouds and patrolling the area. _Like a pair of vultures circling a corpse it wants to eat_, I think bitterly, because that's what the Seam is these days; a rotting, stinking corpse.

"I think we should be getting home now," Rory announces, checking his battered watch. "There's just over an hour to go, and you need to get ready."

My breathing quickens._ One hour..._

"Sure," I reply, feigning a casual air. My efforts are futile – Rory knows me too well.

"Don't be scared," he smiles reassuringly. "It's going to be alright."

I try to smile, but it probably looks more like a grimace. We head off back the way we came, down the narrow Seam streets in the late morning sunshine. Being the last district, we have to wait until all the other Reapings have finished, so that they can be broadcast live across Panem for all to enjoy. With an hour or so until ours, I reckon that 10 must be hosting theirs round about now.

We arrive at the Hawthorne household, and Rory's mother Hazelle appears at the door almost instantly, no doubt fretting about her son's whereabouts and eager to see him home safely. She gives me her best efforts of a smile, then grimly ushers Rory inside, leaving me alone.

I know the route to Rory's house so well I could run it blindfolded, but today I can't help but feel a little nervous at the prospect of walking home alone today. The entire district is ridden with Peacekeepers, and although the ones who are posted here in District 12 permanently will usually turn a blind eye to any punishable offences, the Capitol reinforcement troops for the Reaping aren't quite so lenient. They'd probably come up with any excuse to punish me, and I don't want to give them any reason to. As if on cue, a hovercraft rumbles loudly in the sky above me. Not wanting to take any chances, I turn tail with a pathetic squeak and don't stop running until I'm safely home.

* * *

I watch as the last of the dirty water sloshes away into the gutter, making little swirls as it's drained down. Then I pick the old tin bathtub up in both arms and trudge back up to the house. There's half an hour to go until the Reaping begins, and Katniss isn't home yet. She always tells me that I should never worry about her getting caught but I still do. Especially on days like this.

Mother is sat in her old chair by the fire, quite still, staring. I don't need to follow her gaze to know what at. The photograph of my father sits on the dusty mantelpiece, his proud face watching over his slowly crumbling family. Sometimes I can see Mother's lips moving as she watches, and I think she's talking to him. I wish she'd talk to me more.

"Mother?" Her eyes flicker over to me, and she smiles faintly. "Could you braid my hair, please?"

"Of course," she replies, getting up to come and sit beside me on my bed. "I've always loved to play with your hair, ever since you were a little girl," she adds thoughtfully.

This is the Mother I love; when she ever so slightly opens up again. She'll talk about a funny memory, or tell me something interesting about flowers. It's these rare moments that I'm holding on to, and I'm determined not to give up on her, like I'm afraid Katniss has.

"I have some clothes of your sister's for you to wear," she tells me, as her expert fingers weave long strands of blonde hair into two braids on each side of my head.

"Thank you," I say quietly. My mother stands, smoothes down her skirt, then leaves the room for me to change.

I recognise the outfit instantly as the one Katniss wore to her first Reaping, when she was twelve just like me. Good material is hard to come by in the Seam, so practically every family has to hand down clothes to younger siblings, cousins, nieces and nephews.

Unfortunately, Katniss was a little bigger than I am, so Mother has to pin the skirt up slightly, but the ruffled blouse fits well enough – save for the fact that my shirt tail refuses to tuck into my skirt. With my hands and feet scrubbed free of the constantly lingering coal dust, and my hair all neat and tidy, I sit down and wait. That's the worst part: the waiting.

* * *

"Prim?"

I leap up and run for the door, colliding almost headfirst into my sister and wrapping my skinny arms around her waist. She gently pushes me off.

"Careful, I'm all dirty," she laughs. "Hey, now don't I remember that outfit?"

"It was yours, silly," I grin. "You looked an awful lot prettier in it than I do though."

Katniss frowns, pushing a loose strand of black hair behind her ear. "Oh no, you look like the prettiest thing I ever saw!" I giggle, and Katniss grins at me. She quickly kisses me on the forehead and leaves the room to go and take a bath. I hover quietly by the now extinguished fire, trying to think of things to do that will distract me. Then I spot a little bird perched on the windowsill out of the corner of my eye. It's a wren – I recognize them from my father's drawings. When I was little, he would sit me on his knee by that window and I'd look for things for him to draw. Usually I'd see a flower, or a cat, or maybe a kind of bird I'd never seen before, and Father would draw it. He had such a wonderful talent; his drawings always looked like they could come to life at any moment.

Brushing the aching memories of my Father to one side, I walk slowly to the window. The bird watches me warily, but doesn't scarper. Then, pushing my luck, I reach to open the window. Much to my disappointment, the window frame gives a creaking groan and the wren is startled. I watch as it flies off, envying its freedom. I don't know how many times I've wished I could just fly away, far from District 12, and from Panem, even.

"Prim?" My head snaps round, and my eyes lock with my sister's. She has a lovely blue dress on, and her hair is neatly braided and wound around her head. "It's time to go."

I gulp, fear flooding the pit of my empty stomach. I suddenly wish I had eaten breakfast after all. Katniss gives me a strained smile and says, "Tuck that tail in, Little Duck."

"Quack, quack," I say meekly, forcing the hem of my blouse into the back of my skirt. Mustering all my courage, I take Katniss's hand and together we step outside into the all-too-cheery summer sun.

The square is crowded – the entire eight thousand population of District 12 is crammed into one open town square – and too crowded for my liking. There are hundreds of children everywhere, some whimpering, some crying, most with the stony look of a person who's just so used to the feeling that it could be you. A person who has stood, year after year, each time having worse odds than the last, like my sister.

"Now Prim," Katniss says firmly but gently, her hands on my shoulders. "Be brave, okay? It's your first year, they won't pick you. You're as safe as you can get."

"I know," I whisper, but I can't force myself to believe it. I _am_ as safe as I can be, and there are hundreds and hundreds of girls here with twenty times as many slips of paper fluttering around that Reaping ball. But I still could... no Prim. Shut up. Listen to your sister – when has she ever let you down?

Reluctantly we part ways for our places, which in my case is the quaking bunch of my fellow twelve year olds. We are all roped off according to age, which makes it easier to process us. Scanning my group, I spot the tear-stained faces of Nell and Resa, my friends from school. I recognise other faces too, but we are all too focused on what's going on for a friendly catch-up.

From my place in the crowd of kids I can get a good look at the stage, set up for the occasion outside the front of our Justice Building. Tottering around up there is Effie Trinket, looking more than a little out of place in her shocking pink wig and green Capitol get-up. I've never understood the Capitol's idea of fashion. The people we see on television during each Hunger Games all look more bizarre than the last. I've never worn a dab of makeup in my whole life. She's practically bursting with energy, and bouncing on the balls of her feet – if that's possible, given the height of her heeled shoes.

I meet Rory's gaze through the crowds, but just as I'm about to mouth something encouraging, I'm interrupted by the town square clock tolling, monotonously announcing the arrival of two o'clock. It's time.

The first part of the Reaping usually passes right over my head, but this year I'm hanging onto every word as Mayor Undersee tells us the story of how everything began. He stumbles over his words, explaining Panem's rise from the ashes of 'North America', a better land of promise and happiness, leaving troubles behind in the 'old world'. Then the Dark Days, the uprising of the thirteen districts against the Capitol in a bid to fight for their freedom from the harsh treatment. This brought The Rebellion, a long, hard war between the poor and the rich, until the districts were finally defeated, and District Thirteen obliterated by the Capitol bombings. The twelve remaining districts surrendered, and they were back under the Capitol's cruel and watchful eye once more. The Treaty of Treason was signed, and just to keep us all too aware about how we must never rebel again, the Capitol gave us the Hunger Games.

The Hunger Games. The very reason I'm stood in this square right now. The very reason I dreaded my twelfth birthday more than anything. This is our punishment for the uprising. Just to teach us a lesson, and purely because they can, the Capitol takes two 'Tributes' from each district, and pits them against each other in a brutal fight to the death, until one girl or boy stands. For the Victor; a life of ease and a year's worth of food, necessities and other sorely needed prizes for the whole of her or his district. Nobody's won from District 12 in a very long time. We actually only have one living victor, Haymitch Abernathy. He's supposed to be here, but he's late, as usual. Eventually he staggers on stage, clearly very drunk.

"It is both a time for penance and for thanks," the Mayor says flatly, reading from his Capitol issued papers. Even from here, you can see it in his eyes how he hates what he's saying, but he has to. As if the concept wasn't sick enough, the Hunger Games are broadcast across the nation for all to celebrate and enjoy. All those fancy Capitol people, betting on their favourite Tributes to win. Throwing parties to watch the Games in big groups. It's all big fun to them.

I swear you could cut the tension in the air with a knife. As Mayor Undersee bows his head and retreats to his seat, and Effie Trinket taps the microphone and begins her annual 'Happy Hunger Games' speech, it's like the entire district is holding their breath. And everyone knows that that sigh of relief won't come for two people and their families.

"Now," she says excitedly. "The time has come to select one courageous young man and woman for the honour of representing District Twelve in the seventy fourth annual Hunger Games!"

Silence. How could there be anything else?

"Ladies first!" Undeterred, although clearly embarrassed by Haymitch's drunken entrance, Effie approaches the first glass ball, her slender fingers rummaging around for one slip of paper.

My heart's in my mouth-

Remember what Katniss said-

I can't breathe-

Effie Trinket plucks the unlucky name from the depths of the bowl. I wipe sweaty palms on my skirt.

I don't want to die-

One slip of paper, Prim, _one_-

Effie Trinket unfolds the slip of paper. I screw my eyes shut tight.

_Please_-

Effie Trinket reads out the name. "Primrose Everdeen."

The sound echoes around the square. Then the burn of eight thousand pairs of eyes on me. My mouth is as dry as a bone.

When all the odds were against it, that one little slip of paper in her hand is mine.

* * *

A/N - Thanks for reading, this is my first story on Fanfiction! Please review and tell me what you think :D


	2. Everything Changes

**Prim's Game**

* * *

2. Everything Changes

It takes me a moment to realize that I need to move. My hands have clenched themselves tight, and my lower lip is trembling. An eerie silence has settled, and everyone is staring at me expectantly. I take in a deep breath, and place one foot in front of the other. That's it Prim, you remember how to walk. In that moment that my name was called, I'm officially dead. I can see it in everyone's faces, in their faces every time a twelve-year-old is picked; _she's got no chance..._

"Come on up dear," Effie Trinket calls merrily. I keep my eyes trained on my shoes, scared that I'll be sick if I so much as look at Effie and the film cameras. I blink my eyes furiously, tears pricking in my eyes. I can't cry, not now. The weaker I make myself look now, the worse I'll have it in the Arena. The other Tributes will watch my Reaping, and I'll be no more a threat than a mouse to Buttercup.

Buttercup...

Funny the things you worry about in times like this. I'm worrying about who's going to look after my cat when I'm about to prepare to fight for my own life.

"Hello dear," Effie simpers, closing a pink-clawed hand around my arm. "Aren't you the sweetest thing? Primrose Everdeen everyone!"

No one claps. I search for Katniss in the crowd. She's staring right at me, but she's not seeing me. Her eyes are glassy, and she seems frozen to the spot. Like she can't quite believe it. I'm not sure I can either.

As Effie detaches her hand from me and totters over to the second glass bowl, I stand awkwardly, unsure of what to do. There's a billion and one thoughts rushing through my mind, spinning and spinning until I feel quite faint. This wasn't supposed to happen, not this year. I was supposed to be one of the safe ones.

I spot Gale too, his eyes flickering from me to my sister, then back again. His face is full of concern, but whether it's for me or Katniss I can't be sure. He has a strange look in his eye – like he's planning something. I have a good idea what, and it breaks my heart. Gritting my teeth, I only have time to find one more face, as Effie's hand again roots around for a name. Rory stares at me, tears shining in his brown eyes. His lips are pressed together so tightly that they've turned white, and I can see he's fighting not to cry for me. It makes everything harder, so I tear my eyes from him and back to Effie Trinket. She unfolds the next slip of paper, and reads the name out loud and clear.

"Peeta Mellark!" she calls, and I find that I know that name. Yes – Peeta Mellark, the baker's son. I always begged Katniss to take the longer route home from school so I can go and look at the pretty little cakes in the shop window. I also know Katniss sells squirrels to Peeta's dad sometimes. His face contorted with sudden realization of his fate, Peeta Mellark begins to step forward. He's barely parted from the crowd before two words ring across the silent town square. Two words that nobody in District 12 has heard in a long time.

"I volunteer!"

But it's not Gale pushing through the crowds, ready to keep my safe for Katniss. This – this is so much worse that the strangled cry I've been suppressing since my name was called finally escapes my lips.

The Volunteer is Rory.

"No! Rory, no!" I scream, running to the edge of the stage before Effie or the Mayor can restrain me. "Go back!"

I reach him, and push him hard. He doesn't move. Tears spill from my eyes as the Peacekeepers descend upon us, grabbing both our arms and taking us back up to the stage. Rory looks shaken but by no means regretful as he stands beside me. The entire population of District 12 looks both shocked and pitiful – especially Seam residents who know of mine and Rory's friendship, and why he's doing this. Anyone who doesn't could work it out though.

"What's your name, dear?" Effie Trinket asks sweetly, clearly very excited. I don't think anybody has ever volunteered from our district, so she'll be keen to get the publicity. Everyone knows she hates being the escort for such a poor, dirty district.

"Rory," Rory says, blinking in the glare of the lights and cameras. "Rory Hawthorne."

"Well, Rory Hawthorne," Effie giggles. "Bet you didn't want your friend here having such an adventure without you, did you?"

"You could say that," he replies shakily. He looks like it hasn't yet quite sunk in what he's just put himself in for.

"That's all for today, now that we have our two lucky Tributes: Primrose Everdeen and Rory Hawthorne!" Effie addresses the audience and Rory quickly slips his hand into mine, bringing some reassurance. "Happy Hunger Games everyone!"

It's like those words snap Katniss out of her trance. She flinches, and then her eyes focus on me in a way that actually scares me, it's so desperate. Peacekeepers take my arm, and Rory and I are swept from the stage, past Haymitch and the Mayor, and towards the justice building. I can hear an unsettling commotion behind me. The Peacekeepers push me faster, but they can't quite get me inside the building and cut off from the outside before I hear my sister scream my name.

* * *

I'm in a tiny box room, with grey walls – blank save for the few names scratched in by past occupants – and no furniture except a small grey sofa. I sit down, drawing my knees up to my chest and hugging them. I don't know where they took Rory, but he's probably in an identical room somewhere. What happens now?

My question is answered as the door suddenly slides open, and my mother and sister are stood in the doorway. Katniss looks anxious to come in, and her face is stricken with guilt and fear. I can already tell that she blames herself. Katniss swiftly comes to sit beside me, and puts an arm around my shoulder. Mother lingers in the doorway.

"I'm so sorry Prim," she says, her voice verging on cracking. "I should have volunteered."

"No," is all I can manage to sob. "You need to be here. People need you. It'll be okay when I'm gone-"

"Prim," Katniss says firmly, tears falling down her cheeks. "Don't you dare say that. You mean everything to me, and I swear you'll come home. You've got to win."

Then we both look at each other, because we know what that means for Rory. Only one winner of the Hunger Games. What he's done for me is more than anyone could ever ask of their best friend. I choke back another sob. Not wanting to make matters worse, I just wrap my arms around my and hug her like it's the last time I ever will. It could be.

"What if I can't?" I ask weakly. "Everyone else will be so much bigger and better, especially those Careers."

Katniss looks at me with a pained expression. She takes my face in her hands. "You can do it Prim. You can. You might be the smallest one, but that can be a good thing, I promise. You could hide, wait out the others. You're smart enough to keep yourself alive." The last word comes out all squeaky at the end.

"Okay," I sniff, feeling so young and pathetic. If Katniss was in my place, she'd be so strong, and she'd know exactly what to do. I'm just useless. My sister kisses the top of my head, hugs me tightly, and then goes to stand stiffly beside the door as Mother comes to sit tentatively beside me.

"Primrose," she says softly, her eyes actually focusing on me for once. "You just promise me one thing, will you?"

"Anything," I say my voice wobbling as I fight not to cry again. My mother is finally,properly opening up to me – just when I'm being taken away from her.

"Make your father proud, Prim," Mother says sadly. "He'll be watching over you, and he and I and Katniss know that you'll be home safe and sound." She suddenly slips something into my hand; a small object wrapped in a little piece of cloth. "Don't open this until we've gone."

Our eyes meet, and then the Peacekeeper knocks on the door, signaling that our time together is up.

"I love you, Prim," Katniss whispers, and then the guards take her arm. That's when the panic finally sets in, because there's a very large chance that this is the last time I'm ever going to see the people I love most in this world.

"Don't leave me!" I scream, leaping forwards and latching onto Mother's dress, but the Peacekeepers are too strong. "_Don't leave me!" _Despite my struggles, Katniss and my mother are ushered away, and then I am also led away from the little box room, and outside. I tuck the small present from Mother into the waistband of my skirt, and pray that it won't be confiscated before I've even discovered what it is.

* * *

I'm pushed into a waiting car, where Rory is already sat. His face is red and puffy, and I can't imagine how hard it must have been to have to say goodbye to his brothers, and of course little Posy. She's far too young to understand what this all means, which probably makes it all the more difficult to explain that her big brother might not be coming home.

Despite everything that's going on, I can't help but be a little in awe. A car is a luxury most District Twelve citizens can ill afford, and I've certainly never ridden in one. I don't think the mayor even owns one. Unfortunately the journey is only a short one, so I haven't much time to muse over the wonders of the car before we're escorted into the station, awash in a sea of reporters and blinding camera flashes. I'm so bewildered by the whole thing, that when I catch sight of my face reflected in a camera lens I look like a frightened rabbit.

The Peacekeepers press on however, swiftly parting the crowds and ushering me and Rory onto the train platform, where a sleek silver train waits to take us to the Capitol. Rory looks just as amazed as I do; we've never seen anything like it.

"Aren't you two lucky?" Effie Trinket laughs, leading the way up the steps and on board the train. "Not many young girls and boys can say that they've been on a Capitol train, can they!"

_Not that they'd want to, given the destination, _I think grimly, and Rory's face tells me he's thinking exactly the same thing.

Effie pushes a button, and the carriage door slides open. I almost do a double-take when I see what's inside. It's a room – like... a _room. On a train. _I think if I didn't know I was on a train, I'd think it was just any ordinary room, in a building. Then, an even bigger surprise.

"When do we leave?" Rory asks nervously.

"We already have!" Effie takes particular delight in saying so, her laughter tinkling at our confused faces. Then I look to the window, where the world is rushing by. The train is moving, and I hadn't even noticed. You can't even feel it. "Isn't it wonderful?" Effie says, gazing around the carriage with adoration. "Two hundred miles per hour, and not so much as a quiver."

She's right; I can barely feel any movement under my feet. Rory takes a seat on one of the stuffed blue sofas. He locks his fingers together and rests his chin on them. It settles on me that something isn't right. For as long as I've known him, Rory has been fascinated with trains and all kinds of automobiles, yet he sits silently, as if completely ignoring the fact that he's doing what he's always dreamed of. He should be excited, jumping about and asking all sorts of questions. Given the circumstances though, now wouldn't be the most appropriate time.

"Hey," I whisper, sitting down beside my best friend. "Are you alright?" I immediately blush as I realize what a stupid question it was to ask. Of course he's not. He's just practically planned his own death.

"I've got you," he replies. Tears threaten to well up in my eyes again. Having each other could just be the worst thing possible.

Both of us jump as Effie Trinket squeals loudly. I'd forgotten she was there. She claps her hands together. "You two are just so darn cute!" she exclaims. "They're going to love you!" Then she totters off through the sliding door.

I have a pretty good idea who 'they' are. Those Capitol pigs crowded around their television screens to watch while twenty four innocent kids fight each other to the death. Just the thought of them makes hate stir inside me; a feeling I'm not renowned for having. Katniss always tells me that that's what she loves about me - my inability to hate anyone, and how I always manage to see the good in someone. The Capitol people are different though, and they sicken me.

I'm interrupted in my thoughts by the carriage door opening, announcing the entrance of my new mentor, Haymitch. He staggers in, still drunk from the Reaping. From what I know of Haymitch Abernathy, this isn't out of the norm. "You're a pretty little thing, ain't you," he slurs, gesturing towards me with his wine bottle. "A shy one too," he adds when I don't respond. "An' you're... Rosie?"

"Primrose," I correct him, my voice all squeaky. Up close, Haymitch is actually quite intimidating. "Primrose Everdeen."

"Whatever, Rosie." He takes a swig of his drink, and points rudely at Rory. "You are?"

"Rory Hawthorne," Rory answers evenly. I'm surprised to see he's composing himself very well. "You're our mentor, right?"

"That I am," Haymitch chuckles, as if it's some kind of inside joke with himself. "So good luck to ya." With that, he gives us a thumbs-up and leaves the room, stumbling over himself as he goes.

"He seems... nice," I say quietly, for fear that Haymitch might come back. "Do you think he can help us to win?"

I notice how I automatically said 'us', even though that's impossible. If Rory notices too, he doesn't mention it. "I hope so. He may be a drunken old fool, but he's still a Victor. If anyone can help, it's him."

After Effie returns and shows me and Rory to our rooms, I'm left to my own devices. Curling up on the bed, I realize with a pang that it's the first time I've been alone since the Reaping. It's only a few hours ago that I woke up in my own bed, but home feels like a lifetime away now. My sister's last words to me ring clear in my mind. _I love you, Prim._

"I love you too," I say aloud, because I didn't say it to her when I had the chance. Now I might never see Katniss again, and I didn't tell her, or my mother. I just hope they know.

* * *

Before Effie calls us for dinner, I have time to take a shower and get changed out of my Reaping clothes, which I leave in a pile on the floor. I spend a good half an hour just standing under the hot spray, because a shower another thing I've never experienced. I untangle my hair and wash it through, and then step out of the glass cubicle, wrapping myself in a fluffy white towel. Back in my room, I sit down on the bed, wriggling my bare toes in the carpet. There's a whole range of outfits on display in the wardrobe, which, according to Effie, are mine to choose from. I've only ever had hand-made clothes, and the materials are scratchy and poor quality. The ones at my disposal now are yet another luxury, and my fingers tenderly stroke the soft fabrics, wondering how on earth I can choose just one. After much deliberation, I decide on a cream dress that ties with a bow at the back and has little puffy sleeves. It's a little big, but that's the way I like it, because it reminds me of my ill-fitting hand-me-downs from my sister.

Studying my reflection, I remember that I've let my hair down, and that it's still wet. I've been practicing, but I can't do braids by myself yet, so I just have to towel-dry it as best I can and leave it loose. A powerful need for my mother threatens to take hold of me, so with some difficulty I push the feeling down and leave to find the others.

Rory and Effie are already sat around the dining table when I arrive, so I take the spare seat next to Rory. I cautiously search for my best friend's hand under the table, but I can't find it. As I expected, Haymitch is absent ("probably at the bar," Effie mutters to herself). The food we are served is nothing short of heavenly; soups, salad, meat and vegetables nothing like I've ever tasted before. I'm stuck between savouring every mouthful like I should and wolfing the whole lot down in one go, but it ends up the latter because I'm just too hungry and the food is just too good. Effie's probably used to this though, being the escort of such a poor district. Every pair of kids she gets probably reacts like me and Rory. Effie herself just tucks in neatly, like she eats this kind of banquet every day. I guess she does.

"Don't eat so fast dears, you'll upset your stomachs," Effie laughs, and I take her advice because I am feeling a bit sick to be honest. That's what happens when you go from never eating enough to eating this much very quickly.

After Rory and I have consumed every morsel conceivably possible, Effie leads us to yet another room on the train – one that contains soft chairs and a television set for watching this morning's Reapings. Usually about now I'd be watching the recap at home with Mother and Katniss on our tiny Capitol-issued projector (everyone gets one so they can watch when the Games are broadcast). Another pang of longing hits me.

"Now we can size up your competition," Effie informs us, switching the screen on so that the Capitol seal flashes up. "Here we go: District One."

The girl chosen from the first district is beautiful, with flowing golden hair and a winning smile. Glimmer, that's her name. District 1 specializes in luxury items for the Capitol, so they usually have stupid posh names. The boy that joins her is called Marvel.

"She looks vicious," I comment as the girl from 2 volunteers in a heartbeat, but Rory's too fixated on the screen himself to hear me. A second volunteer from 2 takes the stage, a towering boy who looks like he's been training for this moment all his life.

After the fourth Reaping, I don't really pay as much attention, because Districts 1, 2 and 4 are the richest of the Districts, and produce the healthiest and fittest Tributes. Lots of them do actually train to take part, their power-hungry minds viewing it as an honour like the Capitol. I try to make mental notes on each selected Tribute, but I can't seem to get past the fact that they're all just kids like me. Kids who will all have to die in order for me to win. I'm just hoping I'll have as little to do with it as possible.

"Oh no," Rory breathes, and I snap into focus. We're on District 11, the one before us. A girl has just been chosen, a twelve year old like me. I'm probably about the same height and build too, only she has dark skin and curly black hair. There hasn't been two twelve year olds for a while now – the odds are always in their favour, and in the event they one is picked, they're usually replaced with volunteers. Nobody stands up for this girl.

Effie perks up a bit when the tape reaches District 12, although she makes a lot of muttered complaints about the camera angle and the lighting on the colour of her dress. Rory and I watch silently as my name is called, and I tread shakily up the steps. The commentators voicing over the recap muse over the chances of two first-timers being picked from consecutive Districts. There's no hiding my pure fear, my eyes wild and my fists clenched. The other Tributes have probably already ticked me off as an easy kill. Then Peeta Mellark's name is called, but then the cameras train on Rory, pushing his way towards me. I cringe slightly as I watch myself fighting, screaming for him to turn back. I haven't exactly given the best of first impressions on the audience. The commentators deduce that we must be friends, and laugh merrily at Effie's comment about going on an adventure ("an adventure indeed," chuckles one). The tape flickers to an end, and the screen fades. I find that now I've seen my fellow competitors, everything seems a heck of a lot more real.

As comfortable as my temporary bed is, it's not until the early hours of the morning that I manage to fall asleep, my fretful mind finally giving in to the pull of exhaustion and plunging me into the abyss of violent dreams of my future.

* * *

A/N - Thank you guys so much for your reviews and favourites etc, and for of course, reading in the first place :P


	3. Big, Big Day

**Prim's Game**

* * *

3. Big, Big Day

I'm woken the next morning by Effie knocking enthusiastically on my door, but it isn't the first time my sleep was disturbed. I lost count of the amount of times I woke, heart pounding, scanning the room for the leering, weapon-wielding tributes that had seemed so real in my nightmares. Now though, the sunlight streams in through the small window, and the only terror is the vibrant (to say the least) shade of orange that Effie has decided to wear today.

"Today's a big, big day!" she squeals, letting herself into my room and crossing the carpet with this really annoying skip-hop thing. "You've got an hour for getting ready and eating breakfast before we arrive."

She doesn't wait for a response before she prances out again, presumably to deliver Rory's wakeup call. I reluctantly tear myself from the comfort of my bed and find something to wear. My clothes from the Reaping still lie on the floor, and a part of me wants to put them back on. No doubt Effie would kill me though, daring to turn up to the mighty Capitol in rags. It's only then that I remember the gift from my mother, tucked away in the pile. I completely forgot it was in my skirt when I changed the night before, so I'm unbelievably relieved that nobody took my old clothes away while I was at dinner. _Don't open it until we've gone _– that's what Mother said, so I decide that now would be the appropriate time.

It's very light, the little parcel, and I might have thought there was nothing inside if my mother wasn't so adamant that I open it. I just kind of hold it in my hands, before I can finally bring myself to actually see what's inside. My feet tap agitatedly against the floor as my fingers unfold the piece of cloth, and I'm so hasty that I almost drop the present that lies inside. It's a little hairpin, the kind that you slide in on one side by your ear, like my mother sometimes wears. I always tell her how pretty I think they are, and then I realise that this is one of hers. It's my favourite one – with the little white and yellow flower at the end.

A morning primrose.

This is my mother's final gift to me, my tribute token for the Arena. Provided it's not a weapon of any sort, a tribute may take a small keepsake from home into the Arena; usually a piece of jewellery because it's easier to keep hold of. Tears are pricking in my eyes as I stroke the tiny flower, but I manage to hold them back because at this rate I'm going to miss breakfast and make everyone late, and Effie'll give me an earful for messing up her precious schedule. I quickly tie my hair into a ponytail, and fix the little primrose on one side.

* * *

"That's a lovely hairpin," Effie comments when I finally sit down at the table, neglecting to mention my lateness. "Is that your token?"

"Yes," I say proudly, managing a smile. "It's my mother's."

Rory glances up from his toast, and I see his face fall as he anticipates Effie's next question.

"Have you got a token, Rory?"

Rory looks down again. "No."

Although none of the Hawthornes are ones to make a fuss, they've always been worse-off than us. Hazelle has four children to take care of on her own, so I can't blame her for not having something to give her son. Rory probably doesn't either, but that won't mean he isn't upset that he doesn't have anything but memories to remind him of home. Effie, Rory and I eat in silence after that, each not really knowing what to say, until the awkward silence is relieved by the entrance of our mentor.

"Mornin'," he mutters darkly. Haymitch has dark circles under his eyes, and he looks extremely hung-over. Not that any of us are surprised, given how much he drank yesterday.

"Good morning," I say politely, passing him the jam when he jabs a finger at it.

"Look at you," he says, rudely gesturing to me and then Rory. "Why did we have to get _two _little ones this year? Got no chance, barely anything of 'em."

Effie purses her lips. "Well I think they're rather endearing. The viewers will love them."

I meet Rory's gaze across the table, and I wonder if we're thinking the same thing. I haven't really considered any tactics yet, but Effie does have a point. Haymitch, however, snorts.

"Yeah, 'cause sponsors will really matter when you'll get your head smashed in by some bigger kid before you've even stepped of your plate." The thought of it is enough to make me look twice at the bright red jam on my toast, a sickening feeling settling in me.

"Not necessarily," Effie retaliates. "Smallness can be an asset."

Haymitch and Effie continue to bicker about us for the remainder of the meal, as if Rory and I aren't even there listening to every word. In fact, they're so caught up that it takes for Rory to speak up before they even notice the change of scenery outside of the window as we draw closer to our destination.

"Is that..." Rory murmurs, his voice trailing off in awe. My own jaw hangs open, because I've never seen anything like it. The cityscape on the horizon is magnificent, with towering buildings and statues, and even though it's morning the whole city seems to glitter with light and colour. It's breathtaking.

Effie glances over and springs to her feet, obviously glad of a reason to stop arguing endlessly with Haymitch. She spreads her arms wide in a sort of grand gesture, grinning widely. "Welcome, my dears, to The Capitol!"

Like the excitable children we are, Rory and I rush to the train window to press our noses against the cold glass. All the terrible things I've been told about the Capitol just seem to fade as I take in the glory of the city. As many awful things these people have done to us district citizens, they have done a remarkable job building this city. The marble and shiny metal buildings slide past in a blur, the train gliding through a huge stone arch and over a bridge. As we pass a courtyard, Capitol people swarm like tiny multicoloured ants below us, going about their ordinary lives, shopping and partying. I try in vain to count them all, but they are soon swept from view as we pull into the station.

"It makes me sick," Rory says suddenly under his breath, just loud enough for only me to hear. "Yesterday all these people watched twenty four children get picked to fight each other to death. Now they're just back to doing their stupid Capitol things, gossiping about which one of us will have the bloodiest death."

I knew Rory hated the Capitol – I mean, everyone does – but he's never been so vocal about it before. There's a real spark of disgust in his eyes when he says it, one I rarely see and instantly disliked. I can't blame him though, given what we've been condemned to.

Effie bustles over and turns us both away from the window. "No time for chit-chat you two, the train's stopped!" She quickly brushes down our clothes and checks us over. "There's cameras waiting out there, so big smiles when we get off the train, okay?"

Rory and I nod in unison.

"Perfect," Effie grins. "Come on, the Remake Centre beckons."

I don't actually have time to ask what that is before I'm shepherded from the train carriage and out onto the platform. This time I brace myself for the crowds, but there are only camera men and a few spectators waiting as we step onto the concrete. I guess less people are bothered about showing up to greet the District 12 tributes; we're not much to get excited about. It's quite a relief really. This time I manage to latch onto Rory's hand, and he squeezes it tight the whole journey to the Remake Centre.

I have a pretty good idea of what lies in wait for me there – the name gives enough clues as well. On the first night of the Games there's a huge parade through the Capitol, and the Tributes all wear crazy costumes and ride these huge chariots. The Remake Centre is where I'll undoubtedly meet my stylist, whose job it is to transform me from a poor, dirty district girl into something I've only dreamed of looking like.

* * *

Three and a half gruelling hours later, I stand completely exposed in front of the three garishly-dressed strangers who have been plucking and scrubbing and waxing to a point that now the entire surface of my skin feels like it's been attacked with sandpaper, which I can safely say I never want to experience ever again.

"You look _so _much better dear!" Flavius – one of my prep people - pipes, which is the only way I can accurately describe the way he talks, with that funny accent. "All that disgusting hair gone so we can see your beautiful skin!"

I'm not really sure whether or not I should respond, so I just stay still, embarrassed and wholly vulnerable in my naked state.

"You're going to see Cinna soon," Octavia gushes, finally handing me a robe to preserve what's left of my modesty. "He's got your outfit all sorted for tonight. We just needed to sort out the basics first; you really did look atrocious!"

She laughs heartily at her comment, and I try my best to giggle too, trying not to let the comment sting. The prettiest girl in District 2 or even 1 is going to look shabby by the Capitol's standards, so I won't take it to heart.

Venia and Octavia give me a final check-over, filing down my fingernails to perfectly neat ovals, applying some basic make-up and assuring themselves that their work is to a satisfactory standard. I certainly hope it is, after all I've been through to get like this. Stealing a glance in the mirror hung on the wall, I'm struck how different I look. I almost feel like a whole new person; this vastly improved, Capitol version of the old, tatty Prim. After spending my whole life covered in a layer of coal-dust that no Seam inhabitant can ever seem to shift before it's replaced, I don't think I ever really appreciated how pale my skin is. The light freckles on my nose are more visible too, and my blue eyes seem brighter.

If I wasn't just a pig being raised for slaughter, I think I'd be enjoying this make-over.

Back home nobody in the Seam is concerned with looking pretty. There are far more important things to think about; keeping your family safe and fed. That said, it doesn't mean I never wondered what it'd be like to be rich like the girls at school from the wealthier parts of the district, who get to wear pretty dresses and shoes and although still poorer than other districts, have a fuller stomach than I ever have.

"Just think," Octavia trills, "all your school friends will be so jealous when they see you on television looking so beautiful!"

My lip trembles at the thought of home, so I quickly bite it. "I guess so," I say finally, my voice squeaking slightly. Then, trying to be polite, I add: "they always say how amazing the transformations of the tributes from Twelve are."

I think Octavia might have blushed at this, but it's pretty impossible because she's got this crazy green skin. When I first laid eyes on her I had to clench my jaw to stop it falling open in shock. I've seen some weird Capitol trends on the television, but I've never seen someone with their whole body turned a different colour.

"Oh really?" she asks excitedly. "Well, Venia, Flavius and I have prepped for District Twelve for years – and we can't be too bad if they've kept us on for so long!"

The awkward conversation between my prep team and I is finally relieved by the arrival of my stylist. Flavius, Venia and Octavia fall into line just behind me, straightening themselves up for the man they clearly respect so much. Cinna strides into the room, and as I take in his appearance, I'm surprised to find that compared to everyone else I've seen since I arrived at the Capitol, he's relatively ordinary looking. His black clothes are understated, and the only hint of Capitol is his gold eyeliner, which makes his brown eyes twinkle with a kindness I didn't expect to see. His normalness is actually a breath of fresh air, after being surrounded by clowns for the afternoon.

"Hello, Primrose." Cinna's mouth twitches with a slight smile as he says my name, and I find myself strangely at ease with him. "I'm Cinna, your stylist."

"I know," I say stupidly, blushing at my awkwardness. "I – er, nice to meet you."

"And you," he says. Then he bats a hand in the direction of my prep team, which is obviously their cue to leave, which they do in a great hurry. Cinna finally turns to me, then takes the seat beside mine. "Now, how are you Primrose?"

If I didn't know any better, I'd say that Cinna wasn't even from the Capitol at all. And if I didn't know any better, I'd even say he felt _sorry _for me.

"I'm... um, I – fine," I mumble, although it's a pretty useless thing to say because I can see that those kind, gold-rimmed eyes can see right through whatever flimsy facade I'm trying to put on.

"You don't need to pretend," Cinna says gently. "There are no cameras in here."

Part of me wants to glance around the room to check if he's lying, but the other part wants to trust this man. After all, he's the first person I've met from the Capitol who seems remotely interested in my wellbeing. Still, I'm reluctant to open up.

"I know that being away from home is tough, and I can't even begin to imagine how you're feeling about what's been done to you," Cinna says bitterly, "but you must know that I'm going to do everything I possibly can to help you."

My bottom lip quivers, and I'm scared I'll start crying like a stupid baby in front of him. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Because, believe it or not; not every Capitol citizen agrees with the Hunger Games."

This actually comes as quite a shock, and I dare myself to look right into his eyes to assure he's not kidding, but he looks completely honest. I've lived my whole life thinking that each and every Capitol person was an air-headed idiot who cared more about good food and looking great than the lives of the children they watched murder each other for fun, but this... this is something I never expected.

I can tell by the way he moves onto the next subject so quickly that this is something of a surprise to the Capitol too. He probably doesn't want to get into the habit of discussing this with everyone he meets when I'd bet a week's worth of bread that there's a lot of ways you can be punished for firstly daring to disagree with the Capitol, and secondly for boasting about it. That kind of talk could spark something very dangerous, and the government knows this all too well. I'd dread to think what the consequences would be for a second rebellion, if the first gave us these games.

"So of course, your outfit," Cinna says, throwing me back into reality, "for tonight's opening ceremony. The parade is your first real chance to introduce yourself to the audience, but you'll be behind all the other districts, so we need to make you stand out. Nothing beats first impressions, Primrose."

I swallow uncomfortably. Of course the audience aren't going to be looking anywhere near me when the likes of Districts 1 and 2 are there, shining at the front. It seems like a big effort for nothing for the poorer, less cared about districts.

"What's the use in even getting attention?" I ask quietly, chewing a nail. I can almost hear Octavia shrieking as her hard work goes to waste. "The audience won't care about me."

Cinna smiles. "Not unless you make them. You're going to need them on your side if you want to go home, so now's your chance to show them that you _are _just as good as any Career. If you can win them over, you'll have sponsors up to your ears. This is why I've pulled out all the stops for your costume."

Usually the District 12 tributes embrace our coal-mining roots and wear these tacky miner-outfits all decorated with jewels or silly little lights, but when Cinna presents me my outfit with a neat flourish, I'm surprised (for what seems like the millionth time today) to see what appears to be a completely plain black all-in-one suit, complete with a reddish cape.

"I'm wearing that?" I ask, unsure of whether to be unnerved by the tightness or relieved that it's not sporting a miner's helmet or head-torch.

My stylist keeps on smiling. "Yes you are. Every year your district does the same old thing, but this year; I'm in charge, and I like to do things a little differently. But keeping in touch with the mining aspects, I've got one trick up my sleeve that the audience will never see coming."

"What?" I ask, even though I'm actually a bit nervous to hear the answer.

Cinna's smile is as bright as ever. "Fire."

* * *

My stylist has to explain the concept to me about three times before it's even begun to sink into my head, and even half an hour later, when I'm in the suit with my hair and makeup all done and on my way down to the lowest level of the Remake Centre with the whole team, I'm still refusing point blank to go along with it.

"You can't set me on _fire_!" I squeak, and as we meet up with Rory and his stylist, the first thing I notice is that he has the exact same expression on his face.

"It's perfectly safe," Cinna promises, and as much as I want to believe him, my childhood fear is taking control of my thoughts, and I can't even think straight. "Primrose," he says, gently taking hold of my shoulders and watching me intently. "I wouldn't let you do this if I wasn't one hundred percent sure this was completely fine. Portia and I designed this together – it's not even real fire."

He explains again the basis of this pretend fire that he's managed to set so that it can light up mine and Rory's capes without burning us. I've never known Capitol fashion to be this high-tech before, but as Cinna said, he's taking charge this year.

"Come on, this way," Portia smiles, and Rory and I are ushered over to where Effie and Haymitch are unsurprisingly arguing next to a sleek, black, horse-drawn chariot.

"Ah, and here they are, my little stars!" Effie gushes, embracing us at a very weird angle so she doesn't mess up our hair or makeup. "Ready for the big show?"

"No," Rory and I both mutter under out breaths simultaneously, but luckily Effie's gotten herself too excited to notice.

We're surrounded by our fellow tributes and their own stylists and mentors assembling on their own chariots, but I try to tune them all out as Rory and I are given our instructions.

Effie informs us – along with some very excited gestures – that we'll be riding straight through the centre of the Capitol, right to where the President himself will announce the official opening of the Hunger Games. I've seen this happen almost every year for as long as I've lived, but everything seems so different now that I'm right here in the middle of it all instead of watching the screen tentatively from the safety of my home.

"This is crazy," Rory mutters, his eyes wide as he drinks in his surroundings. "I mean, even crazier than how these people usually are."

Rory's remark doesn't really need a response, so instead I take one last look around at the others before we're pushed up onto our chariot. Some tributes look as overwhelmed as I must, but others look like they're raring to go. It's a whole lot easier for the likes of Districts 1 and 2 – the richest and nearest to the Capitol - who are already crowd favourites before they're even Reaped.

"Ready to go?" Effie trills. "The doors are opening! Okay, big smiles, lots of waving, make them love you!"

I give her my best cheesy grin, but inside my stomach is churning, and my hearty Capitol breakfast is threatening to make reappearance. She's right though; the doors are opening, and I hear the first of the cheers and the blast of music as District 1's chariot pulls out into the open night air. Our own chariot – pulled by coal black horses – inches forward to leaving the safety of the huge stable. District 11 is just leaving when Cinna reappears with Rory's stylist Portia, holding a flaming torch that looks unnervingly realistic.

I shrink back instinctively, almost falling from the chariot, but Rory grabs my hand to steady me.

"Trust me," is all Cinna says.

Rory grates his teeth. "Please just do it."

I screw my eyes shut tight, already convinced I'm about to be burned alive. _Hey, that's probably more bearable than being in the Arena, _I think. No burning comes though; not even heat or the crackling of flames. I open my eyes a fraction in case Cinna's changed his mind about the fire after all, but I'm met with the sight of Rory with flames trailing from his back and bursting from his headdress. There are flames pouring from my own cape too, and as the chariot rolls onwards, Cinna flashes one last encouraging smile before we emerge onto the streets.

The crowds almost stop dead when they see us, but then after they realise that we're not burning alive as a result of some horrific accident, the applause only erupts louder. Cinna was right – all the attention _is_ on me and Rory; even District 1 with all their silver body-paint look dull compared to us. The Capitol citizens scream our names, and I find the courage inside me to wave up at them, keeping my other hand locked onto Rory's.

As Effie predicted, they love it, cheering and throwing flowers down to us. Rory waves too, looking strikingly handsome as the flames illuminate his features. We grin broadly at the audience, and for once, mine is genuine, because as sick as it may be, this is the first time I've ever felt so... so _important. _

The parade itself is over pretty quickly, and all twelve chariots draw up to the City Circle. My arm is aching from all the waving, and my mouth too stretched from all the smiling. I begin to feel the nervous chills again as we ride closer to where President Snow is waiting, the adrenaline from before quickly draining.

As the chariots assemble in a semi-circle around the president's mansion, the Panem Anthem pounds out one last time, then fades in anticipation of Snow's grand entrance. Glancing around me, I can see that many other tributes are clearly not happy about the attention Rory and I have stolen from them, and their steely glares burn into me like the fire on my cape should.

"You okay?" Rory asks, his voice shaky.

"I think so. You?"

"I think so, too."

He doesn't loosen his grip on my hand, and I don't loosen mine on his either. The City Circle is completely silent now, and the sickening nerves are almost overwhelming now. There is no-one in the whole of Panem that scares me more than the president himself; the one who, after all these years, still punishes us. I don't think he has a single ounce of compassion or kindness left in him, and that's what freaks me out the most – that he could possibly be so cold.

Snow steps forward into the spotlight, and even from this far below him, I can see his snake-like eyes travelling over each tribute, like he's sizing up his prey. I look down as he arrives on me, fearing I'll be sick if I make eye-contact with him. He looks so small up there on the balcony, but he still possesses this incredible power over every single tribute and Capitol citizen without looking like he's even trying. The president gives a welcoming speech, as casually as if we are the new kids in class at school, and then as quickly as we got here, we're riding our way back to the Training Centre.

I'm visibly shaking by the time we arrive back again, the chariot coming to a halt. Our prep team comes to meet us, all gushing about how amazing we were and how everyone loved us and how we'll never be forgotten, but the only thing I can properly hear is President Snow's perfectly calm voice, while the memory of his horrible, ice-cold eyes clouds my thoughts and sends shivers up my spine even now.

Rory finally lets go of me to talk to Portia, and I have to grip onto the side of the chariot to keep myself upright. Cinna walks up to me, beaming.

"So, how did you feel?"

I pretty much answer his question when, to the horror of just about everyone around me, my stomach finally gives in and violently empties itself over the side of the chariot.

* * *

A/N - If you were waiting, I am so terribly sorry! I really do wish I could be more consistent, but I'm in the thick of revision and exams right now and I'm trying not to die :) Although, I'll be done in less than three weeks, and then I'll hopefully find a lot more time to be updating. I hope. Thanks for reading, and for your kind fvourites, follows and reviews, they always make me smile :)


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